


Game

by MissCricket



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-14
Updated: 2011-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-27 08:17:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/293653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCricket/pseuds/MissCricket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's better to pretend it's a game, rather than admit it's real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Game

It was a game.

Watched as they were by Templars, every second of every day; trapped within the Circle Tower; frightened for their lives, for their existence, for their immortal souls. In the end all they could do was turn it into a game. Because if feelings came into it, or if the world encroached on it...

Anders pushed the thoughts away as he leapt behind a pillar, blue apprentice robes swishing behind him as he grinned. He heard him enter the room, could feel those grey eyes scanning the stones, heard the rustle of his soft shoes shushing against the stone floor.

Karl knew he was there. And he knew Anders knew.

In a flash Anders darted out from behind his pillar, bolting for the door, only for hands to grab him before he got there, pinning him to the wall, soft lips meeting his own in a deep hungry kiss.

Karl had caught him.

They didn’t need words. They moved together, lips still clinging messily to one another as they slotted behind one of the ornate niches, Karl pinning Anders under him, their mouths hot and slick and desperate.

They didn’t have long, the Templars would notice their absence soon, so they didn’t shed their robes, just rucked them up as they came together with the wild abandon that only the young can have.

Together they thrust, Karl covering Anders with his body, almost as if he would protect him from everything; Anders arching up into Karl, muffling his noises in the shoulders of the hated enchanters robes.

It was rough, it was raw, it was brutal and messy and it wasn’t until they were finished, smoothing down their clothing, that Anders realised they had both been crying.

That was too close to admitting this wasn’t a game.

Karl’s hand came up, halfway as if to wipe Anders cheeks, but he dropped it. Anders opened his mouth to offer him a handkerchief, but closed it.

It was too close.

Silently they left hiding, returning to the Tower proper...returning to the Templars and the milling enchanters down in the entry hall.

The doors are open for once, because people are leaving, meagre belongings being carried out. Templars and mages are leaving, crossing Lake Calenhad.

Karl is leaving.

“Kirkwall’s not far.” Karl said softly, but they knew it was a lie. Kirkwall is forever away for Mages.

Anders didn’t reply.

A Templar spots Karl standing there and hurries over, gauntleted hand reaching out and gripping his arm, “Come on, we haven’t got all day.”

Karl is leaving.

Anders feels his chest constrict with pain as he watches his best friend, his lover being led away. Just before he gets out the door he calls out.

“Write me!”

Karl’s smile is bright as the sunshine as he looks back at Anders, nodding once before the heavy oak doors are slammed shut, and Anders is pushed, not unkindly, into movement.

Karl is gone.

“I’ll get out of here too...” Anders whispered, “I’ll escape, I’ll find Karl....and we’ll be free.”

It was a new game, and like the other ones...he wouldn’t give up without a fight.


End file.
